It's a little bizarre to think that arbiters of cool and all things independent could release the ultimate in money-making schemes, a greatest hits record. But, true to their nature, they've put their own spin on it.
First released by Starbucks of all places, Hits Are For Squares will be re-released on October 31st (Halloween, by far the holiday Sonic Youth are most associated with for me), just in time for the busy Christmas shopping season. This will no doubt go into my just-planned gift ideas column.
As mentioned, this greatest hits compilation is unique, as it has been curated by other musicians, actors, various other cool people and Diablo Cody. No doubt her blurb consists of cutesy, Hello Kitty-in-leather-approved portmanteaus and various other bits of LOLspeak. For those who don't know what that means, it's Internetish for "talking like a blithering idiot."
Admittedly, I'm jealous of this woman, who was given an Oscar for writing "your eggo is preggo."
But that's neither here nor there. While I will always promote exploring a band's entire discography over a collection of only their most commercially successful songs, "The Empty Page" from 2003's Murray Street and "Incinerate" from 2006's Rather Ripped don't appear on this album despite being two of the biggest hits they've ever had. Take that, capitalism.
Here's the tracklist with curators:
Bull in the Heather (chosen by actress Catherine Keener)
100% (chosen by Beastie Boy Mike D)
Sugar Kane (chosen by Beck)
Kool Thing (chosen by Radiohead)
Disappearer (chosen by actress Portia de Rossi) side note: this is my 2nd favorite Sonic Youth song, behind "Teenage Riot"
Superstar (chosen by former stripper-turned-blogger-turned-Oscar Winner, Diablo Cody)
Stones (chosen by film director Allison Anders)
Tuff Gnarl (chosen by writer Dave Eggers and musican Mike Watt)
Teenage Riot (chosen by Pearl Jam's Eddie Vedder) - little bit of trivia, "Teenage Riot" was the first song played on Self-Pollution Radio, a 3-hour radio program Pearl Jam put on in 1995
Shadow of a Doubt (chosen by actress Michelle Williams)
Rain on Tin (chosen by Red Hot Chili Pepper Flea)
Tom Violence (chosen by film director Gus Van Sant)
Mary-Christ (chosen by Tobias Funke himself, David Cross)
World Looks Red (chosen by actress Chloe Sevigny)
Expressway to yr Skull (chosen by The Flaming Lips)
Slow Revolution (chosen by Sonic Youth, since it's a new track)
And since it didn't make the cut, here's Sonic Youth's video for "Dirty Boots" from their 1990 album, Goo.
It's an amazing (not ironic) coincidence that there are only two albums that I consider to have truly changed my life, and they were both released on the same day 5 years apart.
In the previous entry, I looked back on Nevermind and it's influence on me in the earliest stages of my adolescence on the 20th anniversary of its release. Though it won't get nearly as much attention, just as seminal and important of a record was released 5 years later, Weezer's Pinkerton.
Like Nirvana and Nevermind, Pinkerton was Weezer's second album, though their stories could not be more disparate. Nevermind was a polished, relatively expensive production of a record, coming after their famously cheap ($600!) first album, Bleach. Weezer's first album, the note-perfect self-titled "blue" album, was slick, produced by a famous musician in the same studio that Jimi Hendrix recorded in, but Pinkerton was dissonant, cranky and self-produced. And despite this seeming reversal of fortune, these two bands are inextricably tied in my life and in history.
For all intents and purposes, Weezer and Nirvana never existed at the same time. Kurt Cobain took his life on April 5, 1994 and Weezer's debut album wasn't released until a month later. Kurt's death had what was probably the strongest affect any single event had on my life at that point. I was nearly 15 and Nirvana was the first "thing" to which I had belonged that I cared about. Like many people, I was a member of the church of Nirvana and when its messiah decided that he no longer wanted to be a part of this world, it left me with the first real feeling of loss I had experienced. So it was in this post-Kurt time that, in a desperate search for the remainder of Nirvana's music, that I first discovered Weezer on the DGC Rarities compilation record.
And what better music to fill that void? Incorporating all of the loud/quiet/loud dynamics with easier-to-decipher lyrics and even stronger pop melodies, Weezer was a band that seemed custom made for the next stage of my adolescence. For where Nirvana had succeeded in making me feel cool, Weezer had made it okay that I really wasn't. Here was a band singing about nerdy things like X-Men and Dungeons & Dragons and looking like a long-dead singer from the 1950's.
By the time Pinkerton was released, I was 17 and had made the full conversion from Nirvana to Weezer, hunting down every single and interview I could find, even purchasing the Angus soundtrack just to be able to listen to the two-minute long b-side, "You Gave Your Love To Me Softly." Unlike Nevermind, which crept up on me over a 6-month period, I was completely ready for Pinkerton and made the half-hour trek to buy it on the day it came out, the first time I had ever made such an effort to get new music that immediately. Yet as ready as I was to own Pinkerton, I was not at all ready to consume it.
Like I said, this was a cranky, dissonant album. From the feedback and noise that opens the record, it was easy to see that this was not the slick, highly-produced music that I had grown to love. In all actuality, this was more Nirvana's In Utero than Nevermind and I disliked it so much instantaneously that I nearly gave up on the band, like millions of others did. It was perhaps out of sheer stubbornness that I continued to listen to the album, determined to prove to myself that Weezer was my new favorite band and that I may even like them more than I ever did Nirvana. And it took until December of that year that I finally realized that I actually did. For if Nevermind was the soundtrack of how I wanted to feel, Pinkerton sounded like how I actually felt.
Famously recorded after Rivers spent a year at Harvard during 1995 and 1996, much of Pinkerton was derived from an abandoned project originally planned for Weezer's 2nd album, a rock opera called Songs From the Black Hole, a subject that deserves its own blog entry. Though not the rock opera that was envisioned, Pinkerton is still very much a concept album, uniting varied themes about love, lost love, unrequited love, sex without love and depression over lack of love. And for someone experiencing their first real heartbreak, at an age when every bit of heartache and pain is the certain to be the worst you would ever feel in your life, here was a record that understood every bit of pain you felt and then some. This was an emotional album, and the songs were just as intense as the emotions I was feeling.
But what really made - and continues to make - Pinkerton special was its musical complexity. These were only at their most basic traditional alternative rock songs; with more atonal vocal harmonies and guitar lines that would often work as counter-melodies to each other while drifting far, far away from the main vocal melody, especially in later-written songs like "Pink Triangle" and "Falling For You". Though this comes across as spontaneous and off-the-cuff, this was a planned complexity, carefully orchestrated by Cuomo via the influence of Puccini's opera Madam Butterfly, which inspired the record musically, lyrically and gave the album its name. Part of that is owed to the production, as the band purposefully did not hire a producer in order to stay truer to their live sound.
Unfortunately, departing from the sound that had made them a platinum-selling act caused a huge backlash, and Pinkerton was labeled as a commercial and critical failure. Rolling Stone famously named it as one of the worst albums of 1996 (a labeling they would recant, giving the record a five-star review years later). Most fans of the band's hugely successful singles "Buddy Holly" and "Say It Ain't So" would migrate elsewhere, finding the more mainstream rock sound they had enjoyed in Everclear, Third Eye Blind and Semisonic. This perceived failure sent Rivers into a fit of depression and rejection of his own work and a near three-year hiatus after the tragic death of Weezer's oldest fans.
Once Weezer reformed and released new material, it never managed to capture the same intensity or naked, confessional honesty that espoused Pinkerton. Their second self-titled album in particular, commonly referred to as the "green album" overcompensates in trying to erase the entire Pinkerton era. The songs on that record are so middle-of-the-road, with such broad appeal, that every guitar solo on the album exactly mimics the main melody so as to keep the song as simple as possible and not alienate the listener. As a result, the entire record comes across as completely reactionary; as if Rivers was so dejected by the relative failure of Pinkerton's risky departure, he became obsessive with proving that he can write a simple pop song with the best of them. Once that album was successful it only fueled his fire and the trend continued, even on the band's most challenging post-Pinkerton album, their next record, Maladroit.
Because of this dedication to a more standard, over-produced pop sound, many of Weezer's core fans, even the most fervent who have stuck with them through thick and thin, have given up on the band. Yes, we were thrown a bone with the band's "Memories" tour, during which the band would play the "blue album" and Pinkerton in their entirety, but it has ended up being a formal commitment to that being "old Weezer" and the new, listener-friendly incarnation is here to stay. And who, outside of these fans, could blame them? All musicians want to make a living playing music, and if writing broad pop songs pays the bills and ensures their families will be taken care of, isn't that a more noble choice than satisfying a small, yet intense portion of your fan base? Fans may want the emotive, uncomfortable and daring Weezer back, but in doing so they're still asking a man to explore the darkest parts of his psyche when it's obvious that is the last thing he wants to do.
Whatever the present and future hold in store for the band, it's still a testament to the greatness of Pinkerton that fans want to hear more. While that will probably never come, there is still that perfect set of 10 songs to remind us of how desperate and sad we can be; an album that, even after 15 years, is still full of surprises upon every listen. And if you don't like the shitty music Weezer has been putting out since 2001, you'll always have Pinkerton.
The day that would alter the course of music history.
On Tuesday, September 24, 1991, DGC Records released for sale 46,521 copies of Nevermind, the second album from a relatively unknown three-piece group from Seattle. By Thanksgiving, only 9 weeks later, the album had gone platinum and by January had dethroned the biggest-selling artist of all time from the #1 spot on the Billboard Albums chart. Its story is one of the last great rock legends. It's legacy is that of an entire decade.
While much and more has been written about the importance and greatness of this album in the annals of rock history, it holds a special place in the hearts of anyone who was old - or young - enough to realize just how much it changed their life.
I was 12 years old when Nevermind was released. Admittedly, I had no interest in Nirvana during the first 6 months of their astronomical rise. I was a Guns N' Roses fan through and through and this band, with their non-sensical mush-mouthed lyrics, screamed choruses and complete lack of Slash had no interest to me. In fact, I was more of a fan of Weird Al's parody, "Smells Like Nirvana" than I was the band itself. But it was sometime in the summer of 1992, when I first heard Nevermind's 3rd single "Lithium, that I was able to appreciate their music. It was completely about timing, as the tough-guy cool that came along with listening to Gn'R was more associated with the juvenile attitudes of a child. But this, this song about retreating within yourself and being ugly and not feeling guilty over your raging hormones resonated like a tuning fork within my adolescent mind and I was hooked forever. I went from cheesy Lamborghini t-shirts and red athletic shorts to flannel and ripped jeans overnight. And while the fashion of the era, the "grunge" look, so easily exploited and parodied, has become symbolic of a near-laughable, bygone era, to wear these clothes in 1992 was a proud statement that Nirvana enabled us to make: "We don't give a fuck."
I bought Nevermind on tape within a week and played the shit out of it. And for so many of us, it was as if this album was a tolling bell, calling us to a new way of life, or as much of a way of life as you could get at 13. The anarchistic and socially malevolent attitudes that were a natural part of being a pubescent male were justified and encouraged by this band, this band that destroyed their cheap thrift store equipment after every show. Nirvana taught us what punk really meant, because prior to them it was dirty people with mohawks and spray paint. This band encouraged millions of young men - and women - to learn to play the guitar or bass or drums poorly and shout along with their easy-to-play riffs until we were all hoarse. And as cliched as it sounds, it was liberating. The only people who could play Guns N' Roses songs were the black-clad, long-haired snobs that listened to Metallica or one of the other bands on the Big Four tour, but these songs, these were easy to learn and play and to understand and that is what was so appealing. But most importantly, Nirvana taught us how to question authority and to challenge what we knew and that kind of attitude is completely gone from rock'n'roll, as every important group of the last 20 years has used this new-found liberty to shove their agendas down our throat instead of discovering them on our own.
Or, as Michael Azerrad wrote in Come As You Are: The Story of Nirvana, “this was music by and for a whole new group of young people who had been overlooked, ignored or condescended to.” What was most important was that it was ours. Not the leftovers of a bygone era, not the music of our parents, but for the first time in our lives, something that we could rightfully and proudly claim as our own.
Now, 20 years later, their legacy virtually untarnished through the effect of being frozen in time due to Kurt Cobain's 1994 suicide, Nirvana and Nevermind remain the unwilling flagbearers of the 90's. And as short-sighted as it is to condense a decade's worth of music and social attitudes down to 12 songs, hell, even the 4 simple chords that open the album, is there a better symbol of the era than that naked baby swimming towards a dollar? As much as Kurt notoriously hated having the "voice of a generation" tag thrust upon him, was there anyone better to be the figurehead of a changing landscape? Of the coming-of-age of Generation X? Of millions of kids who needed a hero that didn't play a game professionally or blow up terrorists (or communists) in movies? Kurt was the last great rock star, the last whose every word held great importance for a legion of young people that needed assurance that they weren't weird or misfits or outcasts and that there were others out there just like them that could find solace and community in the music of a relatively unknown band from Seattle.
As I listen to this album again, 20 years after its release, I'm reminded of how special it is. Past the posthumously-attached meaning ("I swear that I don't have a gun" sings Kurt, perhaps ironically, in "Come As You Are"), past the hype and the worship and the pedestal placement, this is a collection of great songs. Songs that wore their influences on their sleeves, as obscure as they were then (and even now); songs with obtuse, disjointed lyrics; songs that perhaps were a little over-produced after all. And I as listen to "Lithium" again in this moment of reflection and nostalgia, I'm reminded of how important this record was to me, and how much it defined a period of my life and how I don't think I ever bought a brand new copy of it. Oh well.
Schleprock
"Suburbia" (America's) Dirty Little Secret
By the summer of 1996, the second (or third, or maybe even fourth) wave of punk bands had been scooped up by major record labels in the wake of the Great Green Day/Offspring Explosion of '94. Yes, that is an official term. Google it. It'll lead you back here.
Much like Seattle circa '92, by the summer of 1996 it was hard to find a band in the state of California that didn't have a record contract. But for every Face to Face and Pennywise, there were three 1000 Mona Lisas vying (and often stealing) listeners hard-earned money. And this was right at the precipice of the second (or 3rd) wave of ska bands, during which the Mighty Mighty Bosstones to Less Than Jake ratio was somewhere around 1000:1.
During this free-for-all, it was easy for labels to take any unpolished group with a singer who yelled most of their lyrics (this was before the nasally days), proclaim them the next Green Day and sit back while they sold enough copies to pay back their advance and then some. But despite this exploitation, there were still some quality groups and one of those was Los Angeles' Schleprock, who had a minor hit in that great Summer of 1996 with their fantastic single, "Suburbia."
Thanks to SPIKE TV for allowing embedding on this video. I promise I'll watch at least 2 hours of Ninja Warrior to make it up to you guys.
One of the things I loved most about rock music in the mid-90s was the diversity - you could turn on 120 Minutes or your local radio station at any time and hear Beck's piecemeal white boy hip-hop, followed by Tori Amos' plaintive wailing right before Oasis's acoustic juggernaut "Wonderwall" followed by any of the aforementioned punk bands. And none of it seemed out of place.
Back to Schleprock, it was an episode of 120 Minutes that first brought them to my attention, incidentally this week's episode 15 years ago, the 9/8/96 show hosted by Matt Pinfield with Special Guests No Doubt. I felt like Moses scribbling down the Ten Commandments anytime I watched this show, writing down the name of every band and song whose video made it to air. And one of the most memorable of the time was "Suburbia." With it's Clash (and to me, The Specials) inspired verses and big, loud anthemic chorus, this was a song after my 17-year-old heart.
Lyrically, the song deals displays the typical cynicism towards America's suburbs, painting them as a dystopian wasteland. While this is hardly new ground, the disaffected youth of America (and Canada, in Arcade Fire's case) will be singing about how much suburban life sucks until there are no more suburbs. So you can hardly blame Schleprock for succumbing to a basic tenant of rock music.
Unfortunately, Schleprock broke up after their next record and were relegated to obscurity. But one of many things you have to give punk fans credit for - they have a much longer and better memory than their pop or rock counterparts, and don't need a trendy nostalgia kick to remember a band whose music they liked at any point.
Also, I had hoped to put their really cool - and relevant to the song! - video above, but Warner Bros. Records has disallowed embedding on their videos. Because I'm making so much money off of this. Thank god the DIY/punk ethos won out on the internet.
